


Soldier's Creed

by Brenda



Category: Black Hawk Down (2001)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Post-Movie(s), Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of a soldier at war. (Series of eight connected drabbles, set in the movie-verse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier's Creed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2004 as a birthday gift for Acari.

_"And if I don't meet you no more in this world_  
 _Then I'll meet you in the next one_  
 _And don't be late_  
\-- Jimi Hendrix

 

"Todd Blackburn, right?"

"Yeah." Todd stuck out his hand, shook the offered one firmly. "And you're --?"

"Dale Sizemore. You were with my younger brother in RIP."

"Yeah, Doug's a good guy. Talked a lot about what a hero you were."

"Well, I dunno about all that," Sizemore laughed. "But if you need anything, you lemme know."

"Roger that."

"This your first time in the field?"

"Yessir," Blackburn nodded. "But don't worry. I won't let you down."

"Don't sweat it." Sizemore rubbed his knuckles -- fast, friendly gesture -- across Blackburn's shaved head. "Ev and Beals'll take care of you. Don't worry about a thing."

***

Matt tried hard to like everyone, to understand everyone. He was a soldier, yes, but that didn't make him inhuman. Wouldn't stop him from doing his job...and wasn't that the point? If you were gonna die for the man next to you, shouldn't you at least know who the fuck he is?

Matt glanced at Hoot across the compound, watched in terrified fascination as competent hands swiftly loaded ammo into another magazine, met Hoot's grin with a faint frown.

Matt wanted to be the soldier Hoot was...but was terrified of being the man Hoot was off the field.

***

Kid had a good heart, which was all well and good afterwards, when everyone needed to decompress and get all the rage and terror and whatever all out. Good heart in the thick of battle, though...well, that was liable to get Ev and his entire chalk killed. The last thing Hoot wanted was to see this good kid drown.

Hoot had enough skeletons wanting to pull him under without adding Eversmann to the list.

So Hoot looked out, met wide, fearful eyes with a reassuring nod. Made his own promise to keep an ear out for Chalk Four. And headed into the Olympic ready to get the job done.

***

Shughart met Gordon's eyes in silence, and nodded once, patting his M-16. _Ready to rock._ Their own shorthand -- perfected on more missions than either could count. Or wanted to remember.

Shughart listened as Gordon requested permission to go to Durant, fixed the image of his wife's smile in his mind. Glanced down at the crash, at the mob surrounding the Black Hawk. He wished he had a few well-placed grenades to throw.

Ah, well, where was the fun in easy?

_Your move now_ , he called to Gordon and slid down the rope. A lowly pawn going to the rescue of another.

***

Fucking took too much effort to concentrate, and effort right now hurt like a motherfucker, so Durant slumped back on the filthy cot, closed his eyes to the dust and terrible pity in his captors' eyes, and drifted. It was better than cataloging the pain in various body parts.

He dreamed fitfully of riding with Cliff in a blood-stained limo with pedals that didn't work, careening towards a sheer rock wall that turned into an endless blue sky, screaming in terror when he met Cliff's hollow-eyed grin and felt skeletal fingers wrapping over his wrist, pulling him into a freefall that never ended.

***

Schmid willed himself to smile, even as the copper stench hit him again. Jamie's face was pasty, dull, the life draining from his eyes one hard shudder at a time.

Schmid thought briefly of the drawing Smith had given him just the night before -- an eagle in flight over a snow-capped mountain. Wasn't the best ink in the world, but it'd reminded Schmid of his hometown near Lake Tahoe. Pretty, pristine, unspoiled.

"Thank you, Jamie," Schmid murmured, squeezing limp fingers one last time. Prayed for the strength to see this through.

He nodded to Eversmann and picked up the scalpel.

***

There were a thousand things Sanderson wanted to say to Grimes. Bullshit, mostly -- thanks for fighting the good fight, praise for a job well done, reassurance that Grimes had more than lived up to his Ranger training, his Army, his country. But speeches weren't really Sanderson's thing -- he left the speeches to Hoot, who was much better at them -- and, honestly, what _was_ there to say? Grimes had done his duty, which was all any of the men around them could ask of anyone.

Still didn't stop Sanderson from wishing he was handing Grimes coffee instead of tea.

***

"Captain Steele."

Steele saluted back automatically. "At ease, Specialist."

Sizemore pushed an envelope across the battered metal table. "It was Lorenzo's, sir. For his folks. Permission to mail it?"

Steele's throat closed tight for a moment. "You gonna write to 'em yourself?"

"Yessir, was planning on it."

Steele dropped his eyes before he saw the tell-tale sheen reflected back at him. "You tell them that their son was the best example of a Ranger," he said, voice gruff. "You tell 'em he did his duty to the end."

"Yessir."

Steele closed his hand briefly on the one that clasped his shoulder. Remembered. Mourned.

 

***


End file.
